Serpent Under the Rose
by dracosinsufferablequeen
Summary: During the heat of the war Hermione is captured and when Draco Malfoy, whose been in love with her for 4 years is assigned to train her, she meets her ultimatium. Stay on the Dark Side, or Harry is hunted down and killed. With only Harry left after Ron's demise, Hermione complies. However falling in love with Draco Malfoy wasn't exactly part of her plan. *** Dramione Fanfiction.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

* * *

 _Hello, hi.  
_

 _This is my first ever story, be nice._

 _I simply can't deal with Ron, I apologise to die hard fans of said gingerhead._

* * *

I never understood the meaning of losing something you never had. I never had him, not in the way I was meant to anyway. Not in the way everyone expected. Yes, we were 'meant to be' they would say. Transparently in love. But I wasn't. I had wanted him, yes, but that was long ago. When I was younger, when I was foolish. When I didn't have to fight a war.

I am lonely. But not in the traditional sense. I am missing people, yes, many people. But I am lonely, because I'm missing myself. I'm missing my old self. The one who was insufferable, unable to keep quiet and not show off. She was proud, she could show her emotions. She wasn't cold. Truth be told, I wouldn't consider myself a Gryffindor anymore. I mean of course I can be brave; but so can anyone. It's not a talent, It's a choice. A choice I didn't make.

I let him die. I guess it was my fault. I saved Harry; because it was the smarter choice to make. Ron would understand I'm sure. He'd understand because Harry was the only person who could end this. End the monster who caused his dear brother and so many others to die.

He would understand.

Wouldn't he?

Everyone wanted us to be together. But I can't imagine being with him, not now, not when I'm numb from the pain of the war – as is everyone. I don't regret not being with him. I don't regret saving Harry instead of him.

Should I?

He would understand.

God I fucking hate myself.


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

* * *

"Look like the innocent flower but be the serpent under't"

 _The Prologue was in Hermione's POV if that wasn't clear. The whole story will remain in Draco's POV unless stated otherwise._

I hate this okay?

I never wanted to be the personal assistant of the Darkest Wizard of all time. I never wanted any of it. I just wanted to be able to sweep her off her feet at the Yule Ball the way she'd swept everyone of theirs.

Fuck she was beautiful.

It's been 3 months since I last saw that face, it didn't hold the same glow of innocence, but beauty she would always remain.

She was untouched art.

I last saw her at the battle that took place in Hogwarts. I wanted so badly to scream at her for being so bloody brave. So, fucking, brave.

She spared me. She made eye contact with the man who watched her be tortured and fucking let him live. I wish she hadn't.

'Draco, what do you make of the plans?' Lucius' voice rattles me back to the present and out of my nightmarish daydreams.

'Um, the best way to ambush them is to go for their weakest points, which would probably be by broom.'

Voldemort shushed the table the minute I finished speaking. Someone had arrived.

'My lord! We got her!'

Please don't be my Hermione.

Sure enough, dragged by her curls themselves, the beauty I spoke of is hauled into the room.

Suddenly I feel sick. I want to look away but I can't not stare at her, take in every inch of her. Her top is torn and her bra is half-visible, anger rages through me and my fingertips start to twitch. _I will find whoever laid a hand on her and I will skin them._ Her breath is raspy, as if she's been strangled. _I will skin them and turn them into fucking shoes._ Her face is wet with tears and her cheek is cut. _Fucking shoes._

I realise that my behaviour may become too noticeable, so I take charge of myself. I raise from the table and walk towards the death eater who brought her, making sure to sift through his mind and figure out his name, to add to my list of shoe materials.

'What's your business with her, Sir?'

Everyone was aware of how favoured I was by him. But they still get shocked when I don't need to address him as Dark Lord, or when I just talk up of my own command. My father especially, I can see the jealousy in his eyes. Idiotic really, considering he got me into this mess, I guess I owe my 'success' to him.

He looks towards me and stands, gesturing towards the door. 'Draco, come with me my boy.'

My father's face falls at His last two words. It never occurred to me that my father valued my existence for anything more than carrying on his legacy and of course saving his hide when it came to the Dark Lord. But his expression when He basically labelled me a son, made my insides twitch.

'Yes Sir,' I respond, my eyes still pinned on Hermione.

When did she get so pale?

Once we'd left the drawing room he turned to me with a glint in his eyes. Malicious intent. He spoke as if he was an excited child and it fucking terrified me.

'Draco, she's our mission, she's how were going to get to Harry Potter.'

I'm confused. My heart begins to race with worry as I ponder on what he has in mind for her. Anxiety fills my senses and while I seem cool and collected on the outside, my mind is racing at a million miles per hour.

I swallow hard. 'What do you mean?'

'She's our gateway, he would be useless without her, he won't get any further, which means we'll win.'

Oh Merlin no.

'What do you need me to do Sir?'

'Train her.'

My heart fell to the fucking floor.


	3. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

* * *

The words wouldn't leave my rattled skull. _Train her._ He wanted me to turn Hermione-fucking-Granger into a bloody Deatheater. I've got a better chance at sleeping with the girl. How am I meant to go about this?

There's a knock at my door, 'Malfoy?'

Fuck.

I sit up straight and run a hand through my hair. When was the last time I was nervous to speak to someone? Her delicate knock surrounds my ears again and I call out to her.

'Come in.'

The door knob turns and slowly the door creaks open. She pokes her head in slightly, then seems to relax at the sight of me.

Why in Merlin's name would she do that?

She enters fully and closes the door behind her, however her hand remains on the knob as if expecting to need to leave swiftly.

 _I would never lay a hand on you_.

My brow furrows as I search for something to say. She won't look at me. 'Would you like to borrow a shirt?'

Her head slowly lifts and her eyes meet mine. She smiles sweetly then looks down at her ripped top. At first, she looks mortified realising how exposed she is then looks straight up to me, seeing that I haven't once strayed to her ripped top she calms and nods.

I walk to my chest of draws and pull out a dark green cotton top. I turn to her, motioning for her to come forward. When she tenses and her grip on the door tightens I raise my hand in surrender and slowly walk towards her. I remain about a metre away from her, extending my arm so she can reach the top. Once it leaves my fingertips I turn my back to her. She puts my top on and discards hers to the floor. I don't turn around; afraid I may accidentally turn to early and scare her. Her soft hand touches my shoulder. I turn to face her. Her breathing is heavy and her cheek is cut. She looks so vulnerable and frightened.

 _I wish she wouldn't look at me like that_.

I slouch slightly, worried I look too stern and turn my head to the side. 'Why did you come here? Who sent you?'

She swallows, 'Your father,' She then closes her eyes gently. She must be so exhausted.

'I see. You're tired, do you know where you're staying?'

'No.'

She's going to refuse, but I must try. I don't want her leaving my sight.

'You can sleep here. I'll take the chair.'

She appears shaken by my passiveness. Did she expect me to lash out at her for coming when she did what she was told like the little fucking do-gooder she is? Did she expect me to give her an even harder time when I didn't even expect her here? When there's a fucking war and everyone's too goddamn enervated to fight anything but their cause?

She doesn't detest so I walk away towards my dresser again. I find a pair of oversized grey sweatpants and transfigure them to fit her small frame. I motion towards the bathroom door with them and she enters it, taking the bottoms on her way past.

I've been a light sleeper for years. Never was particularly good at sleeping. Now isn't any different and I rarely do. She grunts in her sleep. She looks so goddamn peaceful, I don't want to bother her. But it's when she starts to shake, when she's crying and her knuckles are white from holding onto the bed sheets too hard, that I must intervene.

'Hermione!' I call, moving from the chair to the bed. She doesn't budge.

I lift the sheets and gather her withering self into my arms. She's boiling, drenched in sweat and is far too bony.

Yet so haunted, she's still beautiful.

'Hermione, Hermione wake up,' I repeat as I shake her.

She gasps for air as she wakes, her eyes flung open and staring into mine with fear. She squirms in my arms, most likely extremely uncomfortable to be this close to me.

 _I wish that wasn't the case._

She scuttles out of my arms, still hyperventilating and wraps her arms around her knees. She's so small. When did she need protecting so badly?

'Granger, it's okay. It was just a night terror.'

She looks up at me and just breaks.

Her sobs rattle through my room, neither of us speak for at least an hour until I rise from my position on the bed and move to the cabinet containing my nightly doses of Sleep Draught. I pull out the bottle dated for tonight and close the cabinet door, observing her from the mirror attached to the door. Her shoulders still shake even though her cries have become silent. She sniffles occasionally as I move towards her. No words are spoken as I hand her the bottle and nod. She looks completely taken back.

 _I wish you'd stop seeing me as the cruel monster I am._

She looks at the label wrapped snug around the neck of the glass and must realise that the dose is mine as her features flitter with something that must be complete relief, gratefulness but still confusion. Her eyes are half open with tiredness and the strain of crying. Her hair is a mess, even more so, from the fidgeting during her nightmare and her face is blotchy, nose red.

Still so beautiful.

* * *

She didn't wake for the rest of the night, as expected. She remained peaceful until I simply couldn't look at her sleeping form for any longer. I didn't close my eyes for longer than a second. I kept them trained on her.

She deserves so much more than this life could possibly give her.

She started to come round at around 8:32, 12 minutes after the majority of the murderers occupying his house had left for a mission. I decided that putting off the inevitable was pointless; this was Hermione Granger after all.

But first, I wanted to get off to a good start with her. If I'mto train her, she needs to trust me somewhat and given our history, that was going to take large effort on my part.

I quietly apparated to the kitchen, opened my private medicine box which most of the time remained concealed and took some of the muggle painkillers I obtained while ransacking someone's house out of the packet.

I've gotten so used to spells that they just didnt seem to dull physical pain as well as they could inflict it.

I also peered into a cuboard to find a mug, then brewed some tea. Leaving the kitchen with a tray of biscuits, tea, water and paracetamol, I rentered my room. She was still lying in my bed, asleep, when I placed the tray on the bedside table.

"Granger," I called softly.

She stired until she faced me, then her beautiful, deep brown eyes fluttered open.

She instantly tensed and almost had to remember where she was.

 _It must have been difficult waking up in the bed of a murderer._

"I, Malfoy?" she asked, looking at the tray. I walked over to my draws and pulled out another top.

"It's not much, we don't have much here. Often go out for food, get something while working. I'll make sure to get something for you on my way out."

"Wait, you're going?" she questioned, mouth full of biscuit.

 _God she's precious._

I moved closer to the bed, but still kept my distance.

I dropped the top onto the bed as I spoke. "You can't stay in my tops and sweatpants forever Granger."

She still seemed so cool and collected. It unnerved me. She didnt respond, swallowing down the paracetamol as I moved towards the door.

"Paracetamol?"

"It's a muggle pain killer, works wonders real-"

"I know what paracetamol is Malfoy," she cut in, "I am a mudblood afteral-"

I stalked towards her with haste and met her face to face. I could feel her heartbeat bouncing out of her own skin.

"You will never refer to yourself as that in my presence, in anyone's presence. Do you understand Granger? You will not stoop to His fucking level," I spat.

She looked astounded. As if I was an alien. I suppose I am to her.

"Do you under-fucking-stand?"

She gulped and nodded, anxious for me to calm down.

I left as fast as I addressed her.

* * *

I returned with three bags of clothing I imagined would fit and suit her, having pictured her for so long. Another two bags I carried were filled with food.

She hasn't left my mind for years, but today especially, she remains, pinned at the forefront of my memory, refusing to move. She is most beautiful, entrancing person I think could exist. I never found her attractive at first. She was bossy, incompetent, annoying, too smart. But then she grew into her wild messy hair. Her eyes started to glitter I suppose and not just in the presence of light. She seemed more mature, less annoying. I began to enjoy staring at the back of her head at times during potions. Then I'd curse myself of course.

Her beauty at the Yule Ball, was extroadinary.

She wasn't like the other girls. She didn't constantly try to look nice, like Pansy. She did that night however. She looked most magnificent. I just couldn't believe it was her. Everyone was amazed. Everyone, as I, just surprised.

Surprised she hadn't bloomed before.

I arrive back at the manor to find her still in my room, gazing at a book I left on my bedside table. _  
_

"You're back," she whispered, closing the book and shrinking into herself and the quilt.

"Yes," I whisper back.

I move closer towards her and place the clothing bags onto the bed.

She looks at me, amazed. "You bought those?" she whispers again.

"Of course." I sit, "Why are we whispering?"

She giggles heartily and It's a most wonderful noise. However her face suddenly grows hard. She remembers, that she's here. She understands she's a prisoner, regardless of the fact she's sleeping in my bed rather than a cell.

 _That's probably worse._

"Malfoy, why am I here?"

I can't tell her. I can't.

I look around as I try to formulate an idea. I have to tell her, It's the only way this can possibly work.

"Granger, here me out.'

Her face scrunches as she turns her head. "Malfoy," she asks, sternly, with warning in her tone, "Why am I here?"

She leaves the bed and stands, crossing her arms across her chest.

"He has plans for you."

"He? As in Voldemort?" She replies. His name makes me shiver. She notices.

She laughs, "Oh come on Malfoy, you live with him, you _follow_ him and you can't even hear his name without inwardly cringing?" she finishes her mockery with a smile.

My hands begin to shake, "Don't you dar-"

"Don't I dare what?" she asks, cutting in, angry now, "Your people bring me here and you, you of all people are the nicest to me. So I ask, politely, why the fuck I'm here and you can't even give me a straight answer?"

I'm scowling, seething at her. She moves towards me and begins again, "Look at you, you're a coward. You can't even talk to me?" She takes another step shouting this time. "Why should I not dare? Why should I not taunt the bully who taunted me all my bloody lif-"

The minute she's within arms reach I lose it, I grab her and throw her against the wall, putting my arms either side of her so she can't leave.

"He wants me to train you!" I spit, her breathing is heavy as she reclines into herself, trying to get as far away from my body as she can.

"He wants me to turn you into a Deatheater. He knows Harry's whereabouts Granger, He knows," I say, less violently. I soften my voice in effort to calm her, however she only gets more anxious.

"So if I don't comply, he'll kill him?" She whispers looking lost.

I close my eyes, I wish I could just pull her into me, let her cry against me, comfort her. But she could never find comfort in the arms of a killer.

I remove my arms from their place beside her head, "Yes."

"You're bluffing," she scoffs, but her eyes tell me that she doesn't quite believe herself. The fear in her eyes is real. Didn't Weasley die? Isn't she alone without him? If Harry dies she'd be alone in a world ruled by a man who wants to skin her.

 _You'd always have me._

She begins to cry. Her hands go up to her face, to cover her flooding eyes as she slides down the wall and hunches on the floor. I kneel so I'm at her level.

"I'll keep you safe Granger, I don't want you or Harry dead."

She looks up at me, furrows her brow and shakes her head. "Why are you being so nice to me?" She questions between sniffles.

I inhale deeply, wondering how thoroughly I should answer that.

Because I want to be your friend? Because I don't want you to look at me the way you always have, with hatred. Because I love you and I wish one day you'd love me back?

"Because this is a war, Granger. People often make mistakes in war, which they grow from. Let's say my mistake was not defecting sooner."

She, nods and doesnt press onwards. But I myself am curious, "Granger, why did you relax when you came here last night?" She thinks for a second, innocently bites her lip, _Merlin,_ then wipes her eyes before she responds, "Because you've been decent to me. Because you are the only person who hasn't directly attacked me, aside from a couple times in Hogwarts." I nod but she goes on, "Because I think there's more to you than who you were in school, becaus you're familiar and because well, you're my trainer."

My eyes snap up to hers at her last words, "Your what?"

"I'll let you train me, if it keeps Harry alive."


	4. Chapter 3

How could she do this? She was supposed to decline. She should have loathed the idea, thrown a hissy fit, Granger-style like she'd do when Ron would be a prat. She is supposed to fight, fight me, fight Him, fight this. She isn't meant to just surrender. Has the millions of brain cells she houses in her bushy little head died off or something? Has her Gryffindor bravery come to an end? Has Hermione Granger finally cracked? Finally decided where she stands? She was meant to argue with me until the daylight hours passed, then ignore me, then talk to me again asking for help once she's come up with some master plan of how she can fake her death and help Saint Potter win.

Why is she so bloody heroic?

"You're not thinking this through, Granger it'll be d-"

She scoffed then looked at me her brown eyes swirling with passion, her lips parted in mockery, "Dangerous? Malfoy this is a war, you're going to get hurt, you're going to be scarred. You just got to make sure you're scarred for the right cause."

I'm still unconvinced at how this could turn out okay. She's fragile, she's underweight by the looks of it and I haven't seen her eat more than a biscuit since she came here regardless of her countless stomach growls. She's tired, exhausted, I mean we all are but we all know that Granger cracks under pressure. She never was good with chaos, unless the chaos was last minute revision for exams. I just want her safe. Is that so much to ask for?

She climbed out of bed, slowly, cautiously as if expecting me to shout at her and give her orders.

 _I'm your trainer, not your superior._

She gently moves towards the bags, still eying me as if she needs permission. I don't want her to feel like that, so I acknowledge her movements, "They're all clothes, I guessed your size."

"You didn't have to do this, you know, how much did it all cost?"

I roll my eyes, "Cost is no concern Granger, let me know what you think, or if I need to change anything," She rummaged through the bags, "I'll go make you something to eat."

Her rummaging stopped, "Oh no, it's okay, I'm not hungry."

I roll my eyes again, "Your stomach says otherwise, I'll grab an apple."

* * *

I return from the kitchen and she seems almost anxious at the mention of food. I walk towards her position on my bed and she reclines slightly. "I haven't poisoned it don't worry," I smile, but her worried form doesn't change.

"Hey what's wrong?" I ask, she swallows staring at the food, "I- I just feel a bit sick that's all, can I eat later? You know, when my stomach settles?" She replies.

My brow furrows with concern and I shake my head, "Yeah, yeah of course, I'm sorry, why don't you get dressed? Then we'll go and occupy ourselves, take your mind off it?"

She nods gratefully.

I leave the room and go to the board room. Even with the light on, the space is dark, screaming of the monsters who have inhabited it The room is long and chilling, it's walls echoing with the voices of the people who have suffered at the hands of Him. The dark soot-colour of the walls are reminiscent of the souls that leak from its chambers. The air is filled with the metallic smell of fresh blood which never did quite leave since Hermione's torture. The floor where she laid, writhing in pain, screaming for help, forgiveness is hard and cold and clicks at every heel which enters. As I walk further into the space, I reach one of the only furniture pieces; a long, ornate oak wood table. It's scratched, mainly at my seat, from bottled up anger and hatred at the words spoken from His lips, or fear, at the thought of any of them actually acting out their desires on Hermione. His seat is the biggest, placed right at the end of the table. Its large, more like a throne than a chair, with deep green fabric lining its cushioning. At the very far end of the room lies a fireplace. It can only be accessed by few Deatheaters, me being one of them. The fireplace is rather big, with gold lining on the rim, marble taking up the majority of its structure. I can remember the cold winter days where I'd take father's green chair and sit beside a warm fire, book in hand. Or the, rare, occasions we'd gather for Christmas and I'd hang my Slytherin stocking, hoping for Quidditch models from Santa. I look from the fireplace to the table. The defining robbery of innocence is littered across the room.

 _So many people have died upon this table._

I turn my body back to the fireplace. I place my head inside and call out the location of one of our many private bases. Blaise, the first to notice me addresses me, "Draco Sir what do you want?"

"Is He there?" I reply.

Blaise leaves the room and returns with the Dark Lord. He looks pleased to see me. "Ahh, Draco, son, come, speak in person."

I do as he says.

When I arrive He taps my back and motions towards the kitchen. I follow him there to find only Bellatrix, him and myself. "Draco dear, what a pleasure," she smiles, then giggles.

"Yes, uh, Sir, if I may, I require Hermione Granger's wand."

Bellatrix looks up in fright, "Mudblood's? Whatever for?"

I fight the urge to react. I can't believe I used to refer to her as that, now the term makes my blood boil. Still addressing Him I speak, "Well Sir, if i'm to train her it only seems appropriate I do so with her wand. I'll of course retrieve it after every session until your satisfaction allows her to keep it."

He thinks for a moment, then places a hand into his cloak and returns it bearing her wand. "Don't disappoint Draco," He warns. And with that, I disapparate.

* * *

I arrive back to the Manor sharply and I'm not one hundred percent sure my absence was noticed, so I don't mention it. I return to the room to find her fully dressed and beautiful. She's in a black sweatshirt, slightly oversized, slipping off her right shoulder softly exposing her beautiful, yet dramatically prominent collar bones. The sweater stops at about her hips where her dark navy skinny jeans start, they fit her decently, considering I guessed the size. The jeans are tucked into plain shoes, nothing too special but adequate for activity.

I smile at her and she cautiously smiles back. "Let's go then shall we?"

"Uh, go where?"

I walk towards her then stop about a metre, still cautious to keep distance. I extend my arm then look at her confused eyes. "I need your hand to disapparate Granger," I smile.

She falters then smooths her hands over her jeans, as if to wipe collected sweat. "Of course, stupid me," she replies as she places her hand in mine. I barely get to register the softness of her palm or the gentle prod of her fingernails against my skin before we've arrived deep in a forest.

She looks around, intrigued by her surroundings, then uses a finger to push a curl behind her ear. "Where are we?" She questions.

"No where special," I reply, "Just a forest with in walking distance from the manor."

She looks at me with growing understanding then wonders, "then why did you apparate us?"

I smirk at her, then lean against a tree crossing my arms over my chest. "Because if this is going to work, you need to trust me."

She scoffs then folds her own arms. "Who says I trust you?"

"Your palm."

She seems taken aback, as if she didn't expect such an answer, "I-wha-"

"You, willing placed your palm in the hand of mine, without any idea as to where we were going and why. You gave me the power to take you somewhere to murder you, without question."

She smiles, "Well you didn't disappoint."

"I didn't?" I ask, as I walk towards her.

"No, you didn't," She says, eyeing up my pocket.

"Accio wand!" Within an instance her wand is in her hand.

I laugh, "I expected no less, but how did you know I had it?"

"I assumed that's where you went this morning, how else am I to learn new spells?"

I'm surprised, amazed, "You're extraordinary aren't you?"

She bit her lip, "Only a little."

* * *

"Malfoy I just can't do it."

"I'm sorry, but you have to you have to try," I reply, for about an hour, Hermione has struggled to try and perform the Cruciatus Curse on a spider, but she can barely make it shiver.

"Why are you making me do this? Why an Unforgivable on the first day?"

Did she really want me to baby her? Baby Hermione-fucking-Granger? Treat her like a child? Ween her into the Dark Arts? Ease her in slowly? When there's a fucking war which could end horrifcally if I don't make Him believe she's changed?

"Well, considering you're Hermione-fucking-Granger and already know half the curses, jinxes and hexes and the fact that Voldemort-Himself is hardly going to be satisfied with your transfer to the dark side if all you can fucking perform is a knockback jinx!" I shout.

She points her wand towards me and takes stance, completely serious, "I'll Crucio you if you don't shut up you bloody ferret!"

I decide that infuriating her is likely to result in succes, even if it is on me.

 _Not like you don't deserve it._

"Do it! Or will you not be able to? Has the almighty Hermione Granger finally found something she's incompetent at?" I snarl, trying to hide my smirk.

It's working.

"Fuck you," She spits and turns swiftly sending the torture curse at the small spider I had paralysed on the floor.

She turns back to me, panting, she drops her wand and walks over towards me. Before I can register what's happening, her frail arms wrap around my chest and she begins to sob into me. At first I am taken aback, my heart rate increases and butterflies form in my stomach. I wrap just one hand around her the small back, mainly because she's so tiny I don't need two but also because I'm afraid if I hold her too hard she may crumble beneath me. Her sobs fade into my shoulder as she dries her eyes and looks up at me.

"Why are you nice to me Malfoy?" She asks then pulls away to look at me fully.

I think deeply for a moment. She's asked me this so many times, and it would be all too easy to just grab her shoulders and shake her, screaming ' _because I fucking love you'_ but as that is not an answer I feel she's ready to hear, I continue to think. Why am I being nice? Surely I should keep up the emotionless, angry, bitter, selfish bully façade she remembers me for, but when she looks like she does; small, fragile, _delicate,_ with her rosy cheeks, her caramel eyes, her bushy hair, her rare yet rue smile.

I hardly have the hostility.

"Because this is a war, because I've watched you, writhe on my board room floor," at this she tenses, but I continue, "Crying, screaming, begging me silently to help, any way I can, and what did I do?"

She gulps, "Stand there."

"Yes. I did what Draco Malfoy does best, nothing."

She understands, but still seems confused.

"Well I'm not doing nothing anymore."


	5. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

* * *

 _HELLO I AM SORRY FOR SUCH A LONG ABSENCE - I lost inspiration for writing this, just lost confidence I guess, I still have the original plan so I'm fully prepared to continue writing this, from here forth. I'd like to say a wonderful thank you to the person who made me consider continuing this story: Venus, my best friend. I read her the chapters I'd previously written about a month ago, and her smile, her intense listening and her adoration for the little amount I had written made me so happy, and made me realise how much I miss writing, especially about these characters, so it is to her I dedicate this entire novel, and any sequels it may birth, thank you, my love._

* * *

She stands wide-eyed, mouth gaping open like a child. She always had that tendency. Never could quite keep her mouth shut, when something she didn't predict, occured. She doesn't like not knowing.

 _If only you knew._

I raise my eyebrows at her, placing my hands in my jean pockets as I lean against a tree. She suddenly closes her mouth and shrivels in embarrassment, and I try to stifle a laugh.

Her eyes fall to my lips, as she speaks. 'What?'

I innocently shake my head as my grin widens.

'What is it Malfoy? Why are you smiling at me like that?'

I push myself away from the tree and ruffle her unruly hair as I walk past her, towards the Manor. 'Oh how you hate not knowing, Hermione.'

 _If only you could know._

* * *

'How do you manage walking so much?' she questions between pants.

I laugh, an almost true laugh. To truly laugh at her, because of her, would only be too telling. 'You're rather unfit Granger, for someone so small.'

She stops in her tracks. 'What did you just call me?'

I turn to her, confused at the sudden animosity laced in her tone, weaved into her words. I cross my arms across my chest, beginning to mirror her defensive stance.

'What? I only meant that-'

'You'll never mention my stature again, understood?' She cuts in, anger in her eyes.

I'm slightly taken aback, and suddenly feel guilt trickle through my nerves, a reaction only she can cause. I can murder a house hold of innocent muggles and not feel a single thing. But something about her breath, hitching as she draws it. Something about the white of her knuckles as they grip her wand, affects me.

 _Who hurt you?_

I raise my hands in surrender, offering my softest appearance, 'Of course, I'm sorry.'

Her back straightens and she smirks.

'Now lets see whose unfit,' and before I can question it, she's gone, running towards the now visible manor, laughing like a child on Christmas day. Merlin she's unpredictable.

 _Why can't you know._

* * *

We made it back to the manor, breathless in our attempts to out run each other. I eventually won, being far more athletic than her in nature, let alone in training, but she put up a rather good fight, given how small, frail and malnourished she is. I never noticed until today how truly _tiny_ her form is. She never had been anything other than small, always in good shape, likely from how much her head was in a book, rather than eating a solid meal, but she was fuller, she was _healthy._

 _She was utterly delicious._

Her shoulders that were so dainty, with her jumper draped upon them, now point out from under any fabric laid across them. Her nipped waist, that curved her body inwards, now invisible, hidden in even the tightest, of clothing. Her wrists, that used to be adorned with a little muggle watch and charm bracelet Weasley and Potter got her for her birthday one year, now razor sharp, jagged edges, that poked out at odd angels every time she drew her wand.

 _So haunted, yet still so beautiful._

Perhaps that's what draws me to her so much, is how broken, how frail she is. Maybe, it's not her strength and determination I admire and love so dearly. Per chance it might be the complete opposite that attracts me so deeply. The simple fact that she _needs_ me. From her first step into this retched, manor, she's had to put her faith in me. She has nobody else here who understands her, who's _familiar_.

The world has left her so broken, so innocently tainted and so poetically, and painfully wounded. So much so, that she relies on the one person she used to not be able to stand.

She _needs_ me.

* * *

Night fell quickly that evening, and although Hermione felt drowsiness fall with it, she still tossed and turned in Draco's sheets precariously, until she stood up next to his chair, leaning her lips to his ear in a harsh whisper, 'Malfoy?'

'Hmm, mhm,' He groggily replied.

'I'm terribly thirsty, could you fetch me a glass of water? I'm too afraid to wander the corridors alone.'

He brought his hands to his face, and roughly rubbed his palm against his eyes, before shuffling in his seat. 'Did you never learn the Hogwarts' motto Granger?'

She stared at him in confusion, and he continued after brief silence.

'Never tickle a sleeping Draco,' at this, he opened his eyes.

She twists her face in surprise and humour, trying to stifle a laugh as she speaks; 'Malfoy, Draco means dragon in Latin.'

His head pointed up at this, and he looked to the side in confusion and slight embarrassment, she decided to save him shame and tease him slightly.

'Besides,' she began, his head turning to her in attention, 'What would happen if i did?'

His head recoiled back imperceptibly and his lips curled to a subtle smirk.

'Well,' he started, leaning onto the bed. Hermione began shuffling backwards in sync with his slow, mechanical movements. He brought his face close to hers, and she closed her eyes, feeling her cheeks glow crimson. 'The dragon may pounce!'

His hands found the sides of her slender waist as her eyes widened in shock and slight fear. His fingers began tickling her mercilessly as she squirmed beneath his firm chest. 'Malfoy!' she managed to pointedly whisper between giggles and exasperated breaths as she tried to move away from him. He responded by carefully placing himself onto her hips, cautious of her sharp hip bones, weary not to cause her pain or discomfort. Her efforts continued, her fluffy mane flowing as she wriggled under him. 'Malfoy!' she laughed, 'I can't breathe Draco!'

As soon as the syllables entered his ears he leaped off her, falling back into his chair. She shot up on the bed, falling against the headrest in response. She began to breath heavily, from finally gaining the ability to do so, but also from slight fear that she upset him accidentally. Draco sat, staring at her in disbelief until he finally managed to croak 'You've never called me that before.'

A moments silence passed between them as she tried to understand what had just happened.

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you.'

His eyes locked onto hers as he gulped, 'You've far from upset me Granger.'

She looked around his face, trying to piece together the mechanisms oscillating in his mind. She nodded in agreement, half sure she was aware of what he meant by that. But before she could question it, his voice sounded again; 'Water, yes?'

And with that, the night ended.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 _If our grave was watered by the rain, could roses bloom?_

* * *

I wake with my hand outstretched across the arm of my chair, my wrist dangling in the air. As my eyes follow the vein trickling in my forearm, my eyes reach a dainty fingertip, laced with mine. My gaze follows the ligature of her fingers, reaching her bony arm, poking out from the bed sheets she's under. Her other hand is positioned underneath her cheek, on the pillow. Her hair lay in perfect swirls beside her temples.

Her eyes are wet from crying, and her cheeks are rosy from warmth. I smile and move to intertwine my fingers with hers, fully. She shifts slightly, her grip on my hand tightening. She quietly mumbles something incoherent, and I move forwards, to push a curl away from her face.

 _What do you think you're doing? She'll never be yours._

'You have soft hands.'

The sound of her voice startles me away from my self deprecating mind and causes me to stand stiffly, as if a hot metal pole had been thrust into my spine.

'I, um, my hands,' I run my fingers through my hair and rub my palm against my thigh to remove the lining of sweat beginning to form, 'Are what?'

She slowly sits up, rubbing her eyes as she does. 'There's nothing to be afraid of, you only held my han-'

But before Granger could finish her sentence, my head whipped to the door, listening deeper for the sound of curses and hexes being shouted at down the hall. Granger heard this too, but she neither of us reacted until we heard the scream.

I bolted to the door, causing it to go flying with a wave of my hand, Granger followed behind me, quickly. We could hear repeated calls of help, and used these to discover Dolohov laying on the floor, bleeding profusely from his leg.

I immediately recognised the damage, and knew at once what had caused this, remembering the searing pain, the burning.

 _Surely she remembers. You can hear her shouting at him._

I freeze upright, staring at the pooling blood on the marble floor, Granger's voice fills my ears and I strain them to listen.

'Malfoy! Malfoy I-'

My hands moved to my belt, still fixed on my waist after falling asleep before changing last night. My fingers worked the buckle and within seconds she had it tied around the gash on his thigh, pulling as hard as she could to reduce the bleeding, but her arms were so frail. Her knuckles were white, her arms shaking when I replaced her hold with my own. She got up immediately, blood staining her front as she looked around frantically trying to piece together what she wanted to say.

My mouth worked before my brain could formulate the sentence; 'Hermione, kitchen, second cabinet from the left.'

'No, those won't work. You know it.'

Dolohov grunted as I tightened the grip on my belt. His hand rising to his chest, where another wound lay. With one hand I removed my shirt, using it to put pressure on the slash on his collar bone. Her hands dove into her hair pulling on it as she screamed. I winced, trying to formulate what to do.

'Hermione, we're losing him.'

'Shut it Harr-'

Being called him didn't hurt as I imagined it would. Her eyes lit up, and instantly, like clockwork, she bent down, kneeling next to him. She placed her hands over his wounds, and began mumbling in Latin, 'Vulnera Sanentur.'

With her wounds, the blood that stained his clothing and had started to dry on the floor, began to trickle backwards, as if her words had reversed time. She kept repeating it, until his gashes knitted themselves into horrid scars.

Remember's my bareness, I began to trace my own defects, caused by the same curse. Insecurity fell over me, as Granger started to shake.

I don't think it quite registered with her that she was saving the life of someone who'd murder her if he was aware she had her hands on him. Perhaps it wouldn't matter to her, perhaps she'd save him regardless. She's good at that, saving people.

 _She wouldn't want to save you._

'Granger,' I spoke, but her eyes remained fixed on his hands. I cleared my throat and leaned towards her, 'Hermione, can you hear me?'

She gave a slight nod and I placed my hand on hers, feeling them rattle beneath me. 'Go back to my room, I'll carry him out, can you do that for me?'

She didn't respond but began shuffle out of the hallway as I clambered Dolohov's unresponsive body into my arms.

As I returned to my room, I could hear the muffled sobs leaving her body, and I waited a moment, by the door. How could someone so utterly phenomenal, so irrevocably talented, become so broken?

I turned the door knob slightly, entering the room as softly as I could. She sat on the opposite side of my room, huddled into a corner, reducing herself until she looked like a ball of fluffy brunette hair. I walked slowly towards her, careful not to startle her while she's so vulnerable. She looked up towards me, attempting to back away into the wall as if it were possible. I remained a distance from her, and sat with my body facing her, my back against the side of my bed. I reached out my index finger reminiscent of this morning, and she gently, innocently, wrapped her small palm around it. We remained like that for a short amount of time, before she cautiously laced her fingers with mine. I moved my legs, so I didn't appear so closed off, and she gradually inched herself closer to me. I raised an arm, half expecting her to recoil away from it, as if it were some great snake, but to my surprise, she lent towards it, slotting her small frame into the cove it created. She rested her head on my chest, for a few minutes, before shifting and laying it upon my lap. I kept my arm on her shoulder, tentatively waiting for her to shiver at my touch, but it never came. Her sobbing slowed, however the glitter of tears still stained her cheeks, until her breathing flattened and she drifted to sleep.

I sat there, possibly for hours, just marveling at her beauty, her tranquil state of effortless perfection. Her skin was paler in sleep, not adorned with her trademark blush. She was completely at peace, how I wish she could feel as calm as she appears here, always.

She awoke to the sound of the manor doors closing. Both of us rose slowly, as I located a shirt she moved towards the door.

Lucius' cold gaze met us in the hallway.

'What ever happened to you to?'

His eyes remained fixed on Granger's shirt, staring at the crimson soaked fabric, as he disapprovingly moved upwards towards her face, awaiting an answer.

'Someone was hurt, I don't know his name,' she looks to me.

'Dolohov,' I continued, 'Granger attended to him, hence her disarray, he's in his quarters, he'll live.

Lucius shook his head in disgust.

'What happened to him? Couldn't have been more than a hex,' he spat, towards Granger, implying incompetence.

I coughed, bringing his attention back to me, his only son; 'No, Lucius. It was Snape's Curse.'

Granger's eyes fell to the floor at his name. I imagine she might have respected him, if she knew, the effort he went to, to protect Harry. The effort he went to, to spy for her side.

 _If only the same could be said of you._

Lucius snatched Granger by the arm, lurching her forward, walking towards the drawing room where I imagine the others were waiting. I stalked closely behind them, commanding every fiber of my being to not break his hand.

He waved the large dark oak wood open, turning heads as he shoved her inside. Everyone remained standing, clumped in social groups, likely speculating on whatever _she's_ doing here.

He sat at the end, his lips curling at the sight of me, my stomach turning with them.

'Ah, Draco my boy, come, tell us what has happened here.'

I walked forward, pushing past Lucius. 'Sir, Dolohov was attacked. I am unsure as to whom did so, they had fled before I managed to investigate, and Granger and I wre rather preoccupied, saving his life.'

He digested this, then laughed. 'You mean to tell me, the Mudblood can heal?'

Granger didn't so much as flinch at this, I however, felt my blood heat.

'Yes, rather magnificently, however, Dolohov's situation was far more dire than some simply potions and incantations. Someone had used Sectumsempra. Luckily she knew the counter curse.'

There was a sudden rustle of fabric, and movement of people, and eye's I had not seen for quite some time met mine. Severus acknowledged me briefly before turning to Granger.

'You used the counter curse? How many times?'

She appeared frozen in her place. She likely hadn't seen him since Dumbledore's death, since Snape tried to take over the school. But she spoke, without falter.

'The scars will heal, he'll need essence of Dittany if he wishes to reduce the chance of scaring.'

He didn't say another word, simply returned back to his original place, and began calculating to himself, possibly trying to work out who in our members would have the knowledge to do such a thing.

I trained my gaze back to His, awaiting a response to my statement; 'Well, what a shame, Two people will have to miss the ball.'

'Ball, Sir?'

Bellatrix spoke, in his place. 'It's been almost a year since the Battle of Hogwarts my dear,' she giggled. I quickly glanced at Granger, who stiffened at her voice. 'We're celebrating, you know, since we won.' Her cackles filled the room once again.

He rose from his chair, everyone turning towards him for command. 'If there isn't anything else my boy, we must be off, we have invitations to send,' he smiled at my child like aunt, 'And you have a tool to sharpen.'

'Sir, might Granger come to this ball? As reward, for her knowledge and quick wit?'

She faced me, wide eyed. As did most of the room. Severus simply smirked in approval.

His face hardened. 'Don't be absurd. Healer or not, the ballroom is no place for filth.'

It took everything I had not to scream.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

* * *

 _I'm weary about how we're only on 8k words at 6 chapters, so I'm going to attempt to write longer chapters. Unless you dudes hate them, let me know._

 _I want to say thank you to the last review I had, from I Am Gryffindor. It was honestly amazing to see. Please leave opinions you get, they mean a lot._

* * *

'It's ridiculous, absolutely out of order,' I began, furious. The bloody devil wants me to _train her, make her one of us,_ yet he won't let her attend a stupid ball. 'I can't believe this, I'm not going,' I spat, folding my arms over my chest dramatically.

'Malfoy,' she started, embarrassed that I had even asked.

 _Embarrassed. She's the only person there elegant enough for a ball._

'No, don't you start. You have a right to be there, what you did today was brilliant.'

She tried to catch up to me. I was seething now, ready to break something, walking so quickly I was surprised she managed to keep up quite this much.

'Honestly, Malfoy, it's fine,' she tried to reassure me.

'The one person I want to dance with can't even fucking go,' I mumbled, not sure whether she could hear me or not. When we reached a hallway door, I attempted to push it open, however stumped my toe instead; 'FUCK, now I won't be dancing at all.'

I could hear humour in her tone as she assured me that she would be perfectly entertained elsewhere. 'That's not the point Granger. Its a ball, for death eaters. He wants me to make you one. yet he won't let you attend?'

'It doesn't seem much fun anyway, I don't particularly like the sound of it. I'll be fine.'

I stopped in my tracks, staring at her, remembering how beautiful, how _ethereal_ she looked at the Yule Ball. 'How could you not like a ball?'

And with that I stormed off.

* * *

Draco hadn't talked to me for the rest of the day. Likely annoyed at my lack of aggravation towards this whole ball ordeal. It was strange, the weird amity we had formed over the last week. The minute I arrived at this horrid manor, he was kind, patient, _unusually sweet_ towards me. He'd rarely exploded, unlike I imagined he would. Part of me dares to ask him why, to intrude into his mind and question why he's so willingly nice to me now. But another part of me knows the answer. _War changes people._ I most certainly am not who I used to be. I lack motivation to get out of bed, let alone to study, to learn. I am more cowardly than ever before, but I'm also colder. War has made me selfish, in some regards, as I imagine it has to many. However, war has melted Draco Malfoy. Suffering has softened his ice cold person, making him warmer, more awake. More considerate. He's made me feel more cared for than Ron or Harry ever did during the first 3 years of our friendship. I dare say I call him a friend. Ron would shiver.

 _Ron is dead._

I get up from my seat in Draco's room, and begin to look around his book shelves. I recognise many of the titles, having read a vast amount of material in preparation for many aspects of the war. There was a section labelled 'Yet to read' and I noticed many muggle titles upon it, one that stuck out slightly, with a little bookmark in it. Curiosity got the better of me, and I found my fingers reaching up and locating the book he had began reading at some point. The name I recognised, having read and loved each character, over and over. 'A Study in Scarlet, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,' A muggle story, about a detective. I flipped open to the page he had left on, discovering a picture of me, from what appears to be Fourth Year. During the craze of the Triwizard Tournament, Harry, Ron and I had been all over the newspaper. This appears to be a picture, taken from an article, shortly before the first event. I can remember the article had something to do with Harry and I's friendship, and although I suppose I should be disturbed by it, but I can't seem to misplace the slight folds in the photograph from my mind. The image has obviously been crumpled, and flattened, multiple times. I make a mental note to ask Draco about it, when he's less annoyed at me, gripping onto the book.

I decide to roam around the manor. I'm aware only Draco, Blaise and I remain amongst it's walls, which eases my anxiety slightly. Although I've never spoken to Blaise, I can remember in the room of requirement, when Harry, Ron and I had saved them, spared them. I only hope he remembers if I cross him.

The manor itself is always dark. The lighting system is rather old, and manor, and save for a few electrical lights, there is still room for, many candles. I imagine this building must have been built in the 1800s, given the architecture. It would be beautiful if it were lighter. However, shadows stain every wall. The metallic stench of blood floods every room, faintly. Perhaps one day this house could be beautiful again. Could be reformed.

Perhaps he could be reformed.

I pick up two muttering male voices, and follow the sounds to what appears to be some form of back doors. I've only left this house once, so I'm not particularly aware of the layout of it, but sure enough, when I open the doors, I can see two bodies huddled away in a gazebo possibly the size of my whole home. My old home.

 _They're gone._

I shake off my thoughts, moving towards the door, with quite a stance of fake confidence. I open the glass doors, and their heads turn to me.

'Ah, Granger right?' Blaise addresses me. He gives Draco a certain look, as if confirming he didn't need to ask that question.

'Um yes. I just came to ask something, Malfoy.'

Draco didn't look at me, simply moved his chess piece and mumbled; 'Which is?'

'I wanted to ask if I could borrow this,' I motion towards the book in my hands, forcing him to look at me. 'I haven't it since I was a young girl.'

He stood up moving towards me, and took the book out of my hands. 'Actually, I was planning on finishing this tonight. I've been rather...distracted since your arrival'.' he sat back down. 'You're welcome to help yourself to any of the other titles, however, until I'm finished with this.'

Mentally, I smiled. I didn't necessarily need to read the book, or want to. I've read it so often I could probably recite it. But his _desperate_ need to take that book from my grasp confirms that he's aware I've seen it. The photograph, which will make asking about it less invasive. At least I hope.

'Okay, thanks. I'll see you later, enjoy the ball guys!'

I heard the book slam down as I turned away, struggling not to laugh as I did.

* * *

I didn't hear from Draco for the rest of the afternoon. I tucked myself away in his room, reading, too afraid of bumping into the many occupants of this house to leave. It was approximately half six when his sturdy knock sounded around the room.

'It's your room, you don't have to knock,' I shouted, turning the page.

Soon enough, he pushed through the doorway. He was dressed accordingly, in a three piece suit, however, missing his tie. Upon full inspection, I notice a black tie tangled throughout his fingertips.

'Do my tie, Granger?'

His voice is soft, sad almost, but no longer contains the harsh tone it has all day. I closed my book, taking a mental note of the page, and moved towards him, gathering the tie from his fingertips, brushing mine against them as I did.

'Style?' I questioned, gulping, as I slowly placed the tie around his neck.

'Windsor Knot, if you can.'

He looked just as intense. I tied his tie steadily, taking in his features.

He was freshly shaven, his skin smooth and pale under the light. His face had always been structured, when he was younger, it was frightening, sickly almost. But with age he's matured, and now, now it suits him. It suits him extremely well.

'Blushing, Granger?'

I tremble slightly, finishing his tie with a tug. 'Don't be absurd, its simply warm in here.'

My hands stop at his tie, and he places his on mine. 'Whatever it is, it's lovely.'

Our eyes lock and both of us realise _just how close_ we are, and he turns to look at himself in the mirror. I return to my place on his bed.

'Not bad, you should do it for me more often, save me the hassle.'

He turned back, rubbing his hand on his neck, groaning in discomfort.

I feel a twist in my stomach. 'You don't have to sleep on the chair you know,' I point out, shyly, tucking a curl behind my ear.

'You can't sleep in the chair, don't be silly its fine.'

'That's not quite what I meant.'

He looked at me in confusion, silently begging me to continue. 'Well, the beds big enough. Friends can sleep in the same bed.'

He scoffed in surprise, relaxing slightly, putting his hands in his pocket. 'Friends?'

I smile, and nod in confirmation; 'Friends.'

* * *

A few hours into the Ball I decided to take a bath.

Never have I felt such attraction to someone so incessantly _wrong._

My whole life, he's been wrong. He's been bad, a bully, a death eater, an _antagonist_. The antagonist, in my entire life story. Yet he's different. He's kind, _gentle._

 _He's magnificent_.

I locate a towel, and make my way to the large bathroom across the hall. I lock the door, placing the towel and my book on the counter next to the sink. I turn the taps, and place myself in the tub.

I believe another hour goes by, of silent reading, and pure tranquility until the door handle turns and opens.

I move quickly to cover myself best I can, leaving nothing below my collar bones visible. Draco enters, shutting the door, and slumping against the wall, book in hand. The same book, from earlier, the sheet of newspaper tucked between his fingers as he moved from page to page. His suit was disheveled. many buttons of his shirt were undone, and his tie, loosened considerably, but not completely removed. He seemed uneasy, stressed, and despite leaving a significant amount of reading time between each page, I could tell he wasn't truly reading.

Nonetheless, I continued with my own book, making sure to remained covered, although I doubt it would have mattered if I stood there stark naked. He didn't seem to take any notice of me.

Some time had passed, before I stood quickly, wrapping the towel around myself and slotting myself next to him on the wall.

'You're not reading that.'

He turned the page.

'What's wrong, Draco?'

His gaze returned from the hazy, non existent realm it had originally been fixed on, and he turned to me.

'I just wish you could have been there, that's all.'

He looked up at me, and moved his fingers to tuck my hair behind my ear, then traced them along my cheek bone. I felt my cheeks burn from his contact and despite how every single fibre in my body, was screaming at me that this was wrong, I couldn't remove my eyes from his. I suddenly remembered how _vulnerably naked_ I am, and moved, to stand.

'I should probably get dressed, It's late, we should sleep.'

He coughed and stood also. 'Yeah, I'll meet you in there, my jumpers are in the bottom draw, in case you, get cold.'

'Uh, thanks.'

I smiled, moving into his room. Sure enough his jumpers were located in the bottom draw, and I picked a cherry red one, sliding myself into it, and some sweat pants he has bought me. He came in a couple minutes later, and I moved to sit on my side of the bed. He followed suit, sitting on the other side of the bed. We both climbed under the covers, and I turned, to face him. He laid on his back, with one of his hands placed underneath his head. I closed my eyes, beginning to drift off when I felt a finger touch my cheek.

'Goodnight Hermione.'


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

* * *

I awoke to a face full of honeyed brown curls, sprawled across half my pillow. I could only see the back of her head, which wasn't quite good enough for me.

I decided to move around to her front, and I certainly didn't find myself disappointed.

Her tongue had flopped out of her mouth sometime during the night, and her cheek was squished up against her hand, which rested under her head. Her appearance wasn't the holiest of beauty, but nonetheless I smiled myself into a quiet giggle.

I realised what I was doing, and cursed myself.

She would never look at me the way I am staring at her now. Never. She could never find solace in my company, or happiness, in my arms.I treated her like she was filth, when it is me who is the dirt. She is more like diamond.

 _Oh how I would treat you now if you'd only let me._

My thoughts anger me, so I apparate, far into the forest, and instantly break into sprint. I don't stop until I reach a thick part of the forest, I often go to for training. I begin throwing myself at trees, fist fighting the wood as if it was a past version of myself. The pain in my knuckles doesn't even register as I begin target practice. Throughout my training I developed a spell which allows me to summon wisps of thin air in the form of birds, which I then shoot with any spell.

Its been a wonderful outlet for stress, anger and general self loathing.

As each bird forms, I release a new spell. My mind rushes to align a different spell than last, however this doesn't satisfy me for long, before her voice, her screams take the place of the tiny last chirps of the previous ghosts.

I lose my patience, and run again.

I run as far as my lungs will allow me before I can't breathe and my legs shake so ferociously that I collapse onto a pile of leaves, fallen branches snapping under my weight.

I ball my hands into fists, and press onto my eyes until it hurts. Until swirls of passionate violet and yellow sun blur into the darkness of my blindness.

I begin to scream. My hands push through my hair and I begin to tug on the strands of white until I feel my body wet with perspiration, a reaction of distress from my body, dealing with so much pain. My voice echos into the oak cores of the giants around me.

I scream until my chest burns, until the forgotten shrubbery below me is saturated with my tears.

 _How pathetic she'd find you if she saw you now._

As if by cue I hear her voice in the distance, and it jump starts me out of my explosion, I call back.

'Granger? What on eart-' before I could finish my question, she jogged into view. When her eyes caught my appearance, she stopped dead in her tracks. Her vacant expression of confusion quickly transformed into that of concern.

'Malfoy what on earth happened to you? she questions, walking towards me. The ache in my knuckles doesnt register until her small hands wrap around my knuckles, pulling them into her view.

I rattle my brain for a cover story, I can hardly tell her I was pining over how much I adore her.

 _It wouldn't be the first time and won't be the last._

'It was the most ridiculous thing, I misplaced my wand, you know, amongst the sticks and...'

She couldn't have looked at more unimpressed with me. I knew fully well that she could buy a single word I was saying with all the galleons in the world, but she didn't challenge me, so I continued, with the most idiotic lie ever told.

'Well, you know me and my tantrums.'

She stared at me as though I needed reprimanding, much like she used to in our younger years at Hogwarts, when she'd look at me disapprovingly for making some ridiculously lame comment about her and her friends.

But then, she laughed. She laughed so hard she stopped making noise, and for some reason, this made me laugh.

Of course, this worsened her fit.

By the time she finished she held my hand once again and I felt my cheeks heat. 'Let's fix you up, you absolute idiot.'

She pointed her wand to the small holes in my skin, muttering a series of healing spells, 'Tergo, ferula, episky.'

I appeared brand new after her delicate words and my mind wandered to my first question.

 _How on earth did she find me?_

'How did you get here Granger?'

'Oh! Well, when I woke I couldn't find you, and I got rather anxious alone, and so I sort of just teleporte-'

'You teleported? But you didn't know where I was, how could you have apparated?'

Her lips part into a smile, 'I didn't apparate.'

My brows furrow, and she continues.

'A little while ago, when Harry, Ron and I were searching for horcruxes, I created this spell that allowed me to teleport to people, if I had an item of theirs on me,'

My jaw hung from its socket.

 _Forget you're birds, she's bloody Merlin._

'It's accuracy varies. The more often you teleport to a person, the closer you get each time. I didn't do that, it's sort of just flawed.'

'It's not flawed,' the word sprung an idea in my mind.

This could be it. This could be how she proves her worth to Him.

'It's, its brilliant!'

I stalk towards her and grab her at the waist, swinging her around as her confused laughs fill the hollow green that surrounds us. When she lands, the beautiful sounds continue, and I explain my explosion of joy.

'This could show Him. It could show how phenomenal you are to Him Granger!'

She smiles heartily, and my hands lock around her face. Her hands hold my elbows as she laughs once more.

'I could kiss you, you genius!

She smiles until her brows knit and I realise just what I've said.

I laugh nervously, and my hands recoil as if her cheeks were a hot branding iron.

They might as well have been with colour that had flushed them.

'I won't obviously, because, well,' I gulp, 'It would be, weird, right?'

'totally,' she replied, almost took quick, forcing air out uncomfortably through an anxious laugh. 'Totally, weird.'

We both try to look at anything but each other, as awkwardness grows.

'Want me to show you the spell?'

'Please do,' I beg, relief dripping from my words.

* * *

When we return to the Manor, you can tell from the atmosphere that they're back. The air is stagnant, and chokes you almost as you walk in. The smell of dust from outdated uniforms irritates your nose. It's a horrible place to be, the headquarters of an antagonist's lair.

 _How fitting that it belongs to you._

'What's happening here Malfoy?'

I don't have the heart to tell her the events of our usual gatherings, but the arrangement of my features is enough for her to understand. Her head drops to the floor.

Someone has died.

We pass the threshold and trudge towards the board room, I whisper for her to stay outside the door, not because she's not strong enough to witness what's likely happened there. Not even because shes 'below' me, as He would say.

But because I love her and don't want to see her in pain.

I enter, eyeing up my surroundings, and being met with many glares from various ranks.

I'm late, and they envy me because I can be, without being tortured.

'Ah, Draco my boy, come see my latest prize.'

I walked towards the devil himself, my face vacant, as if I bored in an Astronomy lesson, and stood next to him, folding my arms across my chest.

'I this is the man who attacked your dear friend Dolohov here, I made sure he recieved the appropriate medicine to correct his instability.'

 _Friend, what a word to describe someone you murder with._

The person who attacked him sways slightly, hung from his feet with a thin wire. His feet, bare, like the rest of his body, were purple, from loss of circulation before death.

I say person, because I truly could't pick apart who this victim was. They're face, remained drenched in blood, so thick, he could have been anybody.

'I see. Fantastic work Sir.'

'Where have you been dear son, with that mudblood of yours?' He giggled like a child.

I felt sick.

'Yes, we were in the woods, training. She's shaping up well.'

He clapped his claws together, and the sound echoed throughout the void of this bastard room.

'Well where is she? I would like to reacquaint myself with this little doll.'

I nodded my head, and walked towards the door. Praying, to every God I could imagine, that she had gone back to her room, and it would take me long than 4 excruciating seconds to reach her. But of course, there she stood, exactly where I had told her to.

I flicked my head towards the inside of the room, and she straightened herself up, hardened her expression, and walked in front of me, into the same room she writhed in, for the first time since.

'Ahh, dear mudblood, how are you finding your stay here?'

She smiles, 'Very welcoming, and comfortable. Better than I deserve, My Lord.'

She quickly looks to me for approval, and although I my face shows signs of confusion, and how easily she has adapted to his manor, I nod nonetheless.

He laughs, and points a hand towards the table, where his latest victim is suspended.

She follows the length of his arm. Her face doesn't change, however, I can see her knuckles turn white against the hem of her top.

This He doesn't notice.

'Who is this, Dear?'

As if reciting a column from a text book, she responds 'The person who attacked Dolohov.'

He cackles again, a resounding sting that struck every bone. 'Very good, do another trick, little dog!' He called. Everyone in the room laughed, and I laughed with them.

However, laugh is hardly synonymous for strangled release of breath.

'Now, Draco my boy. I must ask you to abandon your mutt for a day. I need you on our next mission.'

Her knuckles became invisible at this.

I forcibly gulped, 'Of course Sir.'

'You two are dismissed.'

She left with the same mesmerising composure she entered with. If I didn't know Hermione Granger as well as I thought I did, I'd say she's a better actor than me.

As soon as we were 3 metres away from the closed doors, she cracked.

'How could he do that to someone Malfoy,' she began, walking quicker than before.

I matched her speed, but was unable to respond with a satisfactory answer.

'How could he do that to someone, and put them on display, like some stuffed fucking animal?'

I had very rarely heard Hermione swear. Never have I heard her curse with such venom. It unnerved me.

I hated when she did that.

'Granger calm, please,' I tried but she stopped walking and caused me to turn.'

'Calm? How can I calm? I'm in a a house full of animals Malfoy. Full of predators, ruthless killers, people who disgust me, I'm repuls-'

My heart sank.

'People like me right?'

She stopped and stared into my eyes. I saw in her eyes that she never meant to implicate me in any of this, but her mouth was too busy hanging open to deny it.

My voice rose. You're forgetting that I'm one of them Hermione. You're forgetting that I have killed people. Hunted them down. Slaughtered them. Not because I want to, but because I mean to survive. I have killed people like He has Hermione,'

She shook her head, 'No, no you're different, you don't enjoy it like he does,'

'But I still do it do I not? Murder is murder, whether I enjoy it or not Hermione.' I moved towards her and she took a step back.

'Do I scare you now? Hm? Are you afraid I might kill you next?'

She straightens her back, 'No, I'm not afraid.'

I stalk off.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

* * *

 _Redemption is not just about the survival of a soul. It is the revival of a soul that was once dead._

* * *

Why can't I ever keep my mouth shut?

Ever since I managed to push out my first few _questionable_ syllables, I haven't stopped. Potions, First year, I was simply _gagging_ to answer a question I hadn't even been asked. Even during war, when my words could get me in deep trouble, I manage to say the wrong thing, imply the worst, _upset_ someone.

I, Hermione Granger, _upset_ Draco Malfoy.

I could tell it wasn't anger he felt. I mean, maybe a little, at how openly disgusted I had been towards the death of that man, but what he felt was nothing short of pure hurt.

I _hurt_ him. How did I manage to hurt him?

I just, I've never seen such maliciousness radiate from one being before. I've been carved, I've been attacked, I've been _afraid_ but never as afraid as I was to stand so close to that _snake._

How Draco could assume I included him in the collective I referred to as monsters, I will never know. Well, actually, I can see how he could associate himself with such a word. I mean, he _has_ killed people. But I can see the toll it has taken on him. I can see the white of his knuckles whenever he laughs at some comment Voldemort makes, I can see, with everything I am that he has suffered, for years, in a world he truly didn't know existed.

When I first heard he was joining the Death Eaters, I thought how right it was. How obvious. But still some part of me felt disappointment that he wasn't the secret genius I thought he was pretending not to be. That he truly was the villain he made everyone believe. But once I saw him with his wand pointed at Dumbledore, I knew I was right. That wasn't him. He isn't inherently evil. He isn't his father, or Voldemort. He's _human._ He spent all of his life, trying to please some shut off, cold, rather awful excuse for a father and that's exactly what he did. He made him _proud_.

I can see now that his father's pride in him means nothing.

* * *

My mind drifts back to the last time Draco Malfoy ignored me.

I almost laugh at the image of his tantrums over my absence from the ball. Yet now, I can't help but wish he was annoyed with me for something so easily forgivable. Draco can forgive me, I know he can, because I don't see him as a monster. It's just getting him to listen to what I have to say that'll be difficult.

I haven't truly taken time to comprehend how much he's weaved himself into my life. Over these last weeks, I've gone from hostile, fight or flight, whenever in his company to _sleeping_ next to him. I suppose he's the closest thing I have to home. To Hogwarts, to _Harry_. Oh God Harry. I haven't even thought about whether he's okay. My only solace is that Voldemort hasn't brought back his lifeless corpse as some trophy yet, so I can wager he's doing well enough.

I need to get Draco on my side. There must be some way to convince him to help me win this war. To help _Harry_ win this war.

There's just one thing I need to convince him of before that however.

That I trust him, with my life.

* * *

The manor has never been so empty, and without Draco to guide me through the maze of high walls and ceilings, I feel lost.

I scale the grand, ornate stair case, and I'm greeted with a corridor of large oil paintings, all of different people, past and present.

I stand in front of the first, a portrait of Narcissa. She is standing, next to a large chair, which I recognise to now be Voldermort's _throne._

This portrait was taken in her younger years, perhaps when she and Lucius first married. Before war made her old and tired. Narcissa was very beautiful, very elegant. You can tell she had the type of stance that made your eyes follow her every move.

Lucius, is no exception to this. This painting shows him far younger also, I'd wager about 20 or so. His hair is short and white, exactly like Draco's, however it doesn't quite have the same wave to it as his does. He too was very handsome once, it's easy to see that he used to have charm, which with his career has been replaced with intimidation.

My eyes rest upon the most striking of all images.

Draco, _laughing_.

The painting had likely been modeled after a photograph, but who ever's artwork it was, I commend them, for its so life like.

I've only seen him do such a thing, very few times. But this picture, is far superior. His head is tilted back slightly, and he's sitting, his leg resting over the other. He's dressed in a suit, which appears to be three piece, and if I can remember correctly, it looks to be about 6th year, as that's about when he started letting his hair fall into his eyes.

I feel my cheeks heat as I take in every inch of him.

He's _beautiful,_ truly. He radiates this angelic elegance, which he tries so hard to mask with a hard exterior. He's hurting, and I determine to discover why.

* * *

I hear voices entering the house from Draco's room and instinctively I listen out for his. When the dark, warm familiar tone seeps through my ears, I leap from my place on his bed and run to catch them.

'I mean I won the last like seven games, so try and beat me man,' I hear a voice I don't recognise.

I see him, and I instantly feel defeated. The cold, hard, sneer that I used to receive religiously from him all throughout Hogwarts, was once again plastered on his face.

'Malfoy, can I talk to you?'

He looked directly at me, but ignored me.

'Malfoy?' I said slightly louder,' but was again, greeted with silence.

I decided I was done playing the guilty bad guy. I _technically_ hadn't done anything wrong, and he couldn't persecute me any longer.

I straightened my back, and stalked towards him, he heard my advance and turned towards me. I walked until I reached his body, and with my hand pressed against his chest, kept walking. He followed suit, walking backwards as I pushed him away from his friends and their whistles.

'What.' He asked, through gritted teeth.

'You, me, training, I'll see you in an hour.'

* * *

Draco Malfoy was never late. I had almost convinced myself he wasn't going to come. I needed him to come, I needed him to understand that what I feel for him is far from disgust.

I heard the crunch of leaves as he approached me. He seemed wholly uninterested, as if he would prefer to do virtually anything than be here. It hurt, but I know deep down its an act. He's shut off his ability to care.

Maybe I'll do the same.

'Finally,' I sigh, crossing my arms over my chest.

He wants a reaction out of me, he wants me to bend to his will and beg for forgiveness, if I show him his act of hostility doesn't affect me, maybe he'll blow, and finally talk to me.

'What do you want? We haven't trained in days, you can't surely want to now,' He sighed back, clearly bored.

'Actually that's exactly what I want to do, I have a friend to save, remember?'

He smirked sarcastically, 'Of course, I forgot about Saint Potter, at least he's not a monster right?'

I felt my cheeks heat up, maybe I needed to be the one to blow, because I'm sick of feeling guilty for a feeling I don't feel.

'No, he's not, and nor are you.'

He laughed, throwing his arms around 'Look around you Granger, this is the training ground for a murder house.'

'I never once said I thought you were a monster.'

He shook his head, 'No you simply implied it.'

I walked towards him, looking him in the eyes. 'Actually, no I didn't. You're different from them Draco,'

At first he refused to look at me, but the second his name left my tongue his eyes snapped to mine, raw with emotion.

'You're different, because you don't enjoy what they make you do. you're different because you didn't sign up for this. You were a boy, who wanted to follow in his daddy's footsteps, make him proud.'

His eyes began to water, and I could tell it was working. I was getting to him. Getting through him.

'You're still the boy who couldn't kill Dumbledore,' he looked away once more and I moved my hand to rest against his cheek, pulling his eyes back to mine. 'You're still the man I saved in the Battle of Hogwarts.

And with that, a single tear fell down his cheek.

His eyes closed and he turned away.

'I've killed people Granger,' he turned to me again, 'People like you.'

'I know, Draco,' I gulped and straightened my back, 'I've killed people too.'

His head snapped to me and his brows furrowed.

'I let him die,' he moved closer to me, 'Ron, I, I let him die.'

He dropped his head, 'Granger,'

'I saved Harry. I chose him like Ron had done for so many years. I looked him in his eyes and I saved Harry.'

'You had to,' he whispered, his hand around my wrist.

'As did you.'

* * *

'So we're good?' I ask, as we walk back to the manor.

He smiles, rustling my hair with his finger tips, 'Yeah were good Granger.'

As we entered the house, the sound of loud obnoxiously male laughs hit us, I followed Draco into the kitchen, anxious to remain by his side.

'Malfoy! What're you doing with that slut?' a tall dark haired man around our age asked. The word didn't phase me, however Draco's hand lay curled by his side, his knuckles white. The other men around him laughed, and I presumed when Draco wasn't around he was considered the alpha male.

'Now now, play nice, she's one of us now.'

They all chuckled, raising their eyebrows and stared at him like he was a ghost to them.

'She'll never be one of us, the mutt.'

'Yes well, regardless of her breed I have to train her, orders. You know, something I follow unlike you,' Draco retorted, and I could tell his words were a fake. He's so transparent its a miracle he hasn't been slaughtered already.

'Woah now boss man, we're on break, we were just about to play a little game of Truth and Snare, if you and your whore are up for it?'

Being as I spent the majority of my school career either secretly plotting to kill Voldemort or studying I didn't quite recognise the game he mentioned, however I deduced it was something similar to muggle truth or dare.

Draco was quick to shut them down, which made me curious, why wouldn't he want to play the game?

'Well I'm up for it, if someone wants to brief the Mudblood on the rules.'

Draco's eyes flashed with concern, then before anyone could truly notice, his guard went up and with a flat voice he said, 'Sure, it could be fun to mess with you.'

I saw his Adam's apple bob as he gulped.

* * *

'So the aim of the game is to tell the truth, and if you don't you get it hexed out of you.'

The boys whistled as they laughed at the sight of me. I was wearing Draco's top, the one he gave me the first night I was here, and the size of it dwarfed me, to even shorter than I already was. But nonetheless I stood tall, and strong, because they couldn't throw anything at me that I haven't already experienced, or worse.

'Got it, who's first?' I threw back, stuffing my tone with arrogance. Draco looked over to me. He seemed so nervous, as if this was some game of life or death.

I suppose with the way Maxwell was looking at me, it very well might be.

'Draco,' Blaise said, following my question. 'When did you lose it?'

His cheeks flushed with crimson. On second thoughts, this game could be rather fun.

'I um, well, 4th year.'

My head whipped to the side in shock. But I remained neutral. I wouldn't to judge.

'Next,' he added, pouring himself a scotch as he did.

'Blaise,' I ventured, 'What's a lie you've once told, that you actually got away with?'

He rattled his brain for a few seconds, smiled, then responded, 'The time when I told Draco when he was drunk that he only bought one bottle of whiskey, when I stole the other one.'

Draco frowned, 'I knew I couldn't have been that drunk, it's whiskey for crying out loud.'

I smiled to myself.

'Smiley,' Maxwell spoke, as his eyes looked me up and down. There was something off about his voice, that haunted me whenever I'd heard him talk this evening. Even just when he told me his name, when I was introduced to everyone, there was something sickly about it.

'What's going on between you and Draco love?' He asked.

Draco looked to me, very curious as to what my answer would be, as if his life depended on it.

I thought to myself. What is going on between us? I mean he surely cant just be that much of a natural flirt, and how does someone go from hating a person, to being hurt by the thought of losing them?

'Snare.'

The boys stopped whispering, and Draco's face fell. I couldn't tell whether it was due to disappointment or concern.

Maxwell began stalking towards me and I felt every fiber in my body _scream_ to move, but the only part of me that could were my eyes, which locked with Draco's allowing me to find comfort.

I didn't even hear the words leave his mouth before I was hauled across the room. My ribs cracked against the glass of the gazebo doors, and I cried as I slumped to the ground, glass shards raining around me.

Everyone laughed but Draco. He walked towards me, dropped to my side and shouted 'that's what you get for thinking you're good enough to hang with us.'

My heart stang, for I was too dazed to comprehend his acting, but I did manage to pick up his whisper: 'Get out of here now, my room.'

I hauled myself up, limping drastically as I climbed out of the room. Laughs followed my every step.

I tried not to cry. I tried so hard because why cry over something I've experienced every second of my magical life?

But I cried. I cried hard.

It took exaclty fifteen minutes for him to come to his room, and the second I saw him I broke even further.

'Hermione, calm down.'

'I can't breathe,' I moaned, sobbing uncontrollably, 'It hurts to breathe,'

He started to shake as he tried to help. I've never seen him so distressed. 'Mione I don't know the spells,'

I laughed slightly, and then proceeded to cry harder. He clambered me into his chest, as I whispered episky, and he whispered it back. He rocked me back and forth until I calmed.

'Can I clean you up?' He whispered next to my ear. I sat on his bed, my hands in my lap as I stared at them.

He took a cloth from the bathroom across the hall, and placed it aside my head. The cool texture of water stung slightly, but I was immune to this pain.

'My ribs don't hurt anymore, I whispered, and he slowed.

'Why did you even agree to the game Granger?'

His tone was sharp.

'What? where'd that come from?'

'It came from frustration,' he replied. I knew this aggravation was simply guilt eating at him, but it angered me nonetheless.

'Frustration?'

Yes. You frustrate me so fucking much.'

My jaw dropped. ' I frustrate you? Fucking how?'

He stopped pacing and walked towards me, standing inches from my face, 'Because you're so irresistibly vulnerable and its fucking frustrating.'

'Well maybe if you didn't have pompous idiots for friends I wouldn't be!'

'My only friend is you, and that fucking sucks, because I wish you were far more than a fucking friend,' He yelled, his face dropping as he realised what he said. I didn't even quite think about what happened next, but my body threw my hands against his face, colliding his lips into mine.


End file.
